Anonymous
Photography by Jackson Covert
Before reading this letter, we'd like for you to know it discusses Anonymous's experience with abuse, self-harm, and suicide. If you think that reading about this will be triggering for you, we encourage you to take a pause before reading this letter, center yourself, and prepare any resources you may need to access after reading it. If you'd rather not read this letter, we encourage you to read a letter on a different topic, such as Dana Q.'s or Caroline L.'s letter. If you're reading this, your feelings are valid.
If you're reading this, here you are, strong and bold, despite it all.
I met someone a year ago who told me: “It doesn’t matter how long the night is, the morning is sure to come.” Many nights, especially nights that don’t seem to end because of the flashbacks and memories of the trauma and abuse I had been through, I find myself repeating what that person told me a year ago—the morning is sure to come and another day is waiting for you.
It all started in 2016: the self-harming, the thoughts of suicide, the feelings of loneliness, the depths of despair at a level I had never known until I was at the bottom of it. I was merely 18 years old when I was introduced to such terrifying actions and thoughts that captured and held me hostage for the next five years. And to make things worse, the feelings and emotions that I had to go through were inflicted upon me by a friend of mine; a friend that I trusted and loved. For so long, my friend made me feel like I was the only person in this whole world that could save her. And on days when I felt like I failed, my abusive friend would make me feel even more horrible. She showed me how to self-harm and would constantly bring up suicide, telling me I was worthless—making me terrified of living.
Dear reader, you see, abuse doesn’t have a shape or form; abuse doesn’t have an age or gender; abuse isn’t always physical—mine was emotional and psychological. Hell, I didn’t even understand such a thing even existed, yet I was the direct target of it for five years. Over the course of five years, I thought I couldn’t speak up because I was terrified of my abuser. I was made to feel like her life depended on me—something I never asked for.
My abuser isn’t here anymore because she killed herself a year ago. For years, I was so scared of her, but now she isn’t here anymore. It hurts; it hurts a lot. Some nights, I feel alone. A toxic, abusive, codependent relationship can do that to you.
But you must know that I am still fighting. I am not suffering in silence. I struggled for years, but now, I am slowly but surely crawling out of this grave. I found a psychiatrist and a therapist, and I am learning how to find myself without being defined by the abuse and the resulting trauma. It isn’t easy talking about mental health. Reaching out for help isn’t a sign of weakness—it is the single most courageous thing one can do.
I do not know who you are, dear reader, but I know you might feel alone, you might be hurting, you might be suffering, trying to crawl out of a hole with no light. But on nights that seem infinitely long and dark, the morning will always come. And here you are, strong and bold, despite it all.
Anonymous, Southern Methodist University
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